


Atlas

by deltachye



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Eventual Romance, F/M, High School, Reader-Insert, Slow Burn, all i know is I LOVE USHIWAKA, and he deserves another fic from me, bro honestly idk what to tell u idk what's gonna happen, in 2019 even tho he was last relevant in 2016
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2020-12-23 20:35:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 16,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21087437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deltachye/pseuds/deltachye
Summary: [reader x wakatoshi ushijima]he who carries the might of the world on his back—you think it must be lonely up there.





	1. Chapter 1

“Doesn’t he get tired?”

You watch as Ushijima buries his face in a towel, on the sideline as practice comes to a close. Despite being woefully unfamiliar with the sport of volleyball, you can’t help but notice that the poor guy seemed to be handling the brunt of the work. You’re a stranger here, but there’s some sort of unspoken vow that Ushijima gets the ball. Always.

“I’m sure he does, but he’s never shown it. He’s some kind of monster.”

“Hm.”

You know him but you don’t _know_ him. Everybody knows the name Ushiwaka in this school—he’s a treasure for the Academy’s prestigious name. Apparently, he was already one to look out for since junior high. He was already named Vice Captain in his first year and practically leads the team anyways. You’ve seen him on all the television screens, but this is the first time you’ve laid eyes on him in person. Even though he’s all the way across the court, he’s bigger than you expected. Yeah, he’s a mountain of a man. But he’s not just tall and broad (though he’s plenty of that, too), Ushijima has some sort of commanding aura that draws your eyes to him no matter what he’s doing.

Without warning Ushijima turns around and meets your gaze. Immediately mortified that you’ve been caught staring at him, you blink and turn away. You probably look even more suspicious as you feign normalcy. Dammit. Your heart pounds dully in your chest.

“Anyways, that’s the gist of what student managers can do,” your upperclassman continues suddenly, drawing you out of your stupor. “It’s a lot of work, but it’s a good extracurricular. Especially since you guys are in your first year. There’s a lot of you, so if you’re still interested, come by tomorrow with your application.”

You thank your upperclassman and they turn to get back to their duties. Most of the boys have already left to the change rooms at this point, the sound of balls smacking the ground and gym shoes squeaking noticeably reduced. You hadn’t really been paying attention to that, focusing on what the third-year manager had been saying instead, but it seems eerie now that it’s so quiet.

Compelled for no particular reason, you sneak another glance up to the court. Sure enough, Ushijima’s still standing there—but to your surprise (and continued embarrassment), he’s still looking your way. His face is neutral, making the sharp angles of his golden eyes even more pronounced. His expression is unreadable… it’s kind of unsettling.

No way. You can’t take it. Hurriedly you scurry out of there, the weight of his gaze far too much to bear. You convince yourself that he was trying to look at a clock or person behind you. Or maybe he’s just a spacey kind of person.

There’s no way an important guy like Ushijima Wakatoshi is remotely interested in you.


	2. Chapter 2

This stupid application process is excruciating. 

When you’d seen the flyer on the wall recruiting managers for the school’s Boys’ Volleyball Team, it made it seem like one of those “show up and you’re in” deals. But of course, it doesn’t work like that at Shiratorizawa Academy. There’s competition peppered into everything.

“Write a 250 word essay about why you want to become a manager… seriously?” you mumble to yourself. You’re on the _third_ page of this booklet. It’s not a sheet of paper—no, it’s a stapled _booklet_. The rest of it asks you useless questions like that, too. What your interests are, how many hours you can dedicate per week, what your aspirations are… honestly, you’ve already considered trashing it and finding something else to volunteer for. 

The most experience you’ve had with volleyball is when you were forced to play it in elementary phys. ed. classes. It’d never been good. The ball always hurt when it hit your forearms, bruising them. Who had the bravery to just casually set a ball that’s flying at your face at that kind of speed? Your eyeballs are there! Besides, the ball never ever went where you wanted it to go. It wasn’t a sport where you could show up and have some sort of semi-decent rally with just about anybody. If you weren’t okay at volleyball, it was too hard to play. But it wasn’t like you were only letting yourself down—you had teammates relying on you. If you weren’t good, you didn’t deserve to step on the court with other people. Simple as pie.

So why are you still holding onto this booklet?

Everything leading up to now was already pre-determined. Shiratorizawa was the best junior-senior school in the Miyagi prefecture. Alumni were pretty much guaranteed a smooth ride into the post-secondary school of their choosing. So you took the entrance exam after studying hard and made it in. Even now that you were here, you can’t take it easy. You had to pick up something that’d give you extensive volunteer and leadership hours so it’d look good on your resume, or somebody else would outshine you.

Sure, you could’ve just gone to the Model UN Club. Environmental Club. Cooking Club. Anything but Boys’ Volleyball. But it was the first poster you’d seen, plain text on a white sheet, and you went to the first meeting without a second thought. There, you’d seen Ushijima, and… well…

Maybe you were just hoping you could make some friends. 

You’re not from here. You live several hours up North. Granted, a lot of people that attend Shiratorizawa have travelled from somewhere to be here. But as soon as you stepped foot into the building it already felt like you were an outsider. People were already friends with each other and they weren’t looking to make new ones. You hate to admit that you’re shy, but it’s been a lonely first few weeks. And besides, what could go wrong? If you get rejected here, then you just have to apply for something else. It’s just that you’ve been too scared to try anything yet.

And what if they _do_ accept you to be a manager? From the short few minutes you’d met that third-year manager, they looked so at ease—laughing with the team members and looking generally close to everybody there. You’ve never felt that you’ve been a part of a team before. It’d be kind of nice to have people rely on you, and for you to be able to support them.

Who knows. Maybe you can even get in with the famous Ushijima Wakatoshi and make headlines yourself. 

You put your pen to the page and start writing.

\---

Practice always starts at 4:00 sharp, right after class. You’ve got to run from one building to the other to make it on time, and it’s not like you’re particularly graceful doing it. 

Your upperclassman had told everybody that if they were still interested in taking on a manager role, they had to meet in front of the gym. There was already a group there when you arrived, meaning they were even earlier than you were. That annoyed you. Just how competitive _are_ Shiratorizawa kids?

They’re all talking amongst themselves quietly, but you feel too awkward to butt in and try to join the conversation when they look like they know each other. You’re huffing and puffing and red in the face anyways, so you just hang a little ways away from them. The application booklet sits in your clipboard, hugged tightly to your chest. 

“Hey, uh…”

You didn’t expect to be addressed. Turning around, you face a girl that’s a bit shorter than you. She’s got long-ish jet black hair tied up into a severe ponytail, framing dark irises that are currently eyeing you up. 

“We’re in the same pre-calc class.”

“Oh, really?” You hate to be so awkward, but you can only vaguely recognize her face. You have no idea what her name is from roll call. 

“Okita Rei,” she introduces as if reading your mind, raising a small hand in casual greeting. Grateful to be talking to somebody for reasons besides a group project for once, you nod back. 

“[Surname] [Name].”

“So, you want to be a manager?”

It feels like you’re being assaulted by the application booklet yet again. Trying to look non-committal and _cool_, you shrug and nod.

“Sure. It’d be good for my resume and all.”

“Same. I was going to stick to sports, but I didn’t make the Girls’ team since _apparently_ everybody here is a friggin’ beast.” She sighs sharply with repressed emotions, and you feel a twinge of sympathy.

“Are you from here, Okita-san?”

“Just call me Rei. But yeah, I am. I went to Shiratorizawa Junior High, but whoop-dee-doo, didn’t make the final cut for the senior team.” She purses her lips and looks at you. “You’re not?”

“No… I just moved here for high school.”

“Did you play volleyball or anything?”

“No,” you admit, starting to feel like you’re answering her questions wrong. “But I might as well give it a shot, right?”

For a second you wonder if Rei’s going to furrow her brows and then laugh at you or turn away in disgust. After all she actually _played_ the sport, even if she wasn’t currently on a roster. It’s a couple of seconds filled with nerve-wracking heartburn, but then she shrugs easy-goingly.

“Cool. Let’s hope we can be managers together.”

_Maybe you were just hoping you could make some friends._

“Me too!”

\---

“Right, so…”

It’s a different manager than the one you’d met yesterday. It’s a girl now, her athletic jacket zipped right up to her chin. She’s busy writing in her notebook, clearly multi-tasking.

“There’s two managers for each year, six in total. First years go with first year players, second with second, third with third. We only do intake for first and second years, but if you do a crappy job or have to drop out we’ll find a replacement from a waitlist. Capiche? Today’s just gonna be a shadow day while we look through your apps. First years go… stand by that bench over there. Second—”

You and Rei shuffle together. There’s a lot more first years than second, which makes you kind of nervous. Should you really even be here? Well, if they rejected your application, then at least—

“Excuse me.”

You jump and look up, facing… a chest. You have to crane your neck up to the sky before the blood is sucked out of your face—Ushijima Wakatoshi blinks down at you disinterestedly. 

“You’re in front of my water bottle,” he prompts while you flounder uselessly. 

“O-oh, sorry.” Jumping out of the way, you watch him pick up his Gatorade before walking away again. He doesn’t look back at you or acknowledge your presence further or anything at all. That interaction was normal. Beyond normal—trivial. Just some dude asking you to move out of the way so he could get his stuff. It’d be the same if he was another person or you were somebody else. But your heart’s still hammering on the inside of your ribcage, and everything is obviously showing on your face by the way Rei is grimacing at you. 

“Don’t tell me you have a crush on that guy?” she asks with disbelief. 

“I don’t!” you protest, knowing it sounds fake the more you deny it even if it is the truth. “He just scared me, that’s all!” 

“Okay… guess we know why you’re really here, [Name].”

It’s not like it hadn’t come across your mind—you’re a first year, he’s a first year. He’s not in your homeroom or any other class, so you’d never see Ushijima except for here. And sure, you could just cheer him on in the stands like everybody else does, but for once, you don’t _want_ to just be anybody else. You want to be special. You want to be a somebody to someone—mean something important. It’s selfish of you, but it’s not like it’d actually happen. It’s just a maybe. 

No amount of wanting can make it happen.

(Spoiler: sike.)


	3. Chapter 3

You know what? Maybe it’s time for you to start believing that there’s higher powers, because _something_ up there or out there absolutely detests you.

It’s phys ed first period. You’re not the most athletically gifted, but it’s a mandatory course, so you just suck it up and go. All the other girls in the changeroom seem to share the same unspoken sentiment, yawns and groggy expressions surrounding you. You diligently change into your shirt and shorts, white and maroon. Your gym shoes look quite sad, dusty and over-worn. They’re probably from elementary. Sighing, you can’t help but wonder how awkward it’s going to be to have to ask a bunch of strangers if you can join their team for the day. You hate butting into clearly established friend groups because you don’t have one of your own. Sports just aren’t for you—and yet, you keep checking your email anyways, waiting and waiting to see if you get a callback for the Boys’ Volleyball Club. 

“Hey! I think I heard that we’re doing co-ed volleyball,” a girl says to you abruptly, plopping down on the bench you’re tying your shoes at. She changes her shirt mid-conversation, and you hastily look away so that you aren’t staring at her underwear. You have no idea who she is, but she’s clearly comfortable enough despite that. 

“A-are we,” you mumble, caught off guard by the sudden forwardness. She shakes long black hair out of her face and fixes her bangs before holding her hand out to you.

“Natsukawa Ayane.” Her amber eyes gleam like cat eyes do in the night and she grins. She’s a chaotic force—you can already tell. “Just call me Yane!”

“[Surname] [Name].” Thankfully, you don’t stutter on your own name. You shake her hand and it’s warm, but oddly slender. She might play some sort of instrument.

“Nice to meet you [Name]—can I call you [Name]?”

Before you can even nod she’s already continued, getting up and turning around to tie her shoes on the bench. Her side profile is just as pretty as the front, even as she makes a face to wail, “I’m _screwed_! I can’t even play volleyball with those blow up beach balls, and we have to play against _boys_?”

“Well, just because they’re boys and we’re girls doesn’t necessarily mean…” you say shyly, though you agree. It’s not that you suck at volleyball because you’re a girl. You just… kinda suck at volleyball in general. Versing _anybody_ with even a dredge of talent was going to be a train wreck.

“Sure, yeah, but don’t you know what _homeroom_ we might end up versing? This is a combined class between 1-1, 1-2, and 1-3, so…”

“No,” you reply despite her hinting tone as the two of you walk out of the changeroom into the gym. You’re in 1-2 and Yane might be in either 1-1 or 1-3, judging from the fact that you haven’t seen her before. Even though some courses like pre-calc, where you know Rei, are combined, most classes stick to homerooms. You don’t really know many people in your own class, much less other homerooms. Still, Yane seems so distressed that she’s stressing you out just by looking at her.

Even though you aren’t late, there’s still ample noise in the gymnasium, people warming up or tossing the ball around for fun. It’s a huge gym—twice the size of the one at your old junior high. The ceiling vaults so high up you have to crane your neck 90 degrees to see it. Looking around, you jump when the sound of a cannon goes off—at the net, there’s somebody just landing from a jump. You stop in your steps.

“_Ushijima Wakatoshi’s_ homeroom, bitch!”

\---

It’s completely unfair that a star athlete like Ushijima is playing volleyball with regular people. Sure, he’s a student like the rest of you, but… he’s freaking Ushijima Wakatoshi. A first year regular on the nationals-bound Shiratorizawa Boys’ Volleyball Club. It’s like going up against Lebron James in high school basketball or something. And, of course, with your great luck—your team is matched with Ushijima’s first. 

Cool.

“This is bad,” Yane keeps muttering to herself, wringing her manicured hands. “What if I get hit in the face and die…?”

“You won’t die,” you try to reassure, but honestly, you’re scared of the same thing. There’s another girl on your team and three boys. You try not to look across the net where Ushijima’s standing with his own motley crew. Rounding them up, you ask, “um. Have any of you played volleyball?”

Everybody shakes their head. 

Cool!

“Do you think we can forfeit?” the other girl says softly, frowning to herself. She has a dreamy look on her face as she twirls a strand of hair that fell out of her ponytail. “If we all split up and run away, they can’t stop all of us.”

“Chie! Good idea! Let’s go—” Yane perks up, looking like she’s about to drop into starting block position to sprint out, but then the gym teacher walks past.

“Why aren’t you playing?!” he barks. “Don’t make me dock participation marks!”

With a shared sense of doomed resignation, the 6 of you get into position. 

“Hey, shit… is he serving? [Name], is Ushijima serving?!” Ayane whispers to you. The both of you and Chie are on the back line, the boys having claimed the safe front of the net before the three of you could move. They girls are on either side of you, both looking equally worried. You swallow thickly and look up. Sure enough, Ushijima is on the back line, looking down as he bounces the ball with trained precision and catches it.

“Here I go,” he announces plainly, probably to be polite out of pity, but his voice is so deep it throws you off. Is he actually the same age as you? He throws the ball high into the air and pulls his arm back. Confused, you wonder why he’s jumping up just to do a simple serve, and then—

“_[Name]_!”

You see the white of the ball on the tip of your nose right before you see nothing.


	4. Chapter 4

“You killed her, you _asshole_, you _killed_ her!”

“This is bad. Should we call an ambulance?”

“There’s school nurses, I think.”

“Damn. You think she’s really dead?”

“I’ll never forgive you, Ushiwaka, you goddamn _murderer_—”

“Ayane-san, calm down… she’s waking up.”

You stir in the blur of all the voices. Before you can open your eyes you instinctively cough, the taste of blood running slimily down the back of your throat. You’re lying on the ground somehow, even though you last remember standing. Leaning to the side, you spit and touch your face. It’s warm and wet.

“[Name]!” Yane gasps, kneeling in front of you. “You didn’t die!?”

It’s kind of rude that she sounds so surprised about it, like of _course_ you should be dead, but whatever. Beside her is Chie, holding out a small white towel for you. Gingerly you move and take it, though everything on your face feels like it’s stinging with hot fire. Your head throbs as you wipe yourself up, but it still feels like the blood flow is constant.

“I’ll take her to the infirmary.”

The voice is low and rumbly. It’s definitely unmistakable. You lower the cloth and look behind Yane, seeing through your tears—yup, that’s Ushijima. He’s leaning forwards onto his knees, his expression still flat. He’s got more of a frown than usual, maybe. Unless that is his usual.

“You’ve done enough!” Yane snaps, wiping snot off her face. You’ve just met her a few hours ago and she’s already crying over you? The sentiment touches your heart. Ushijima’s frown furrows a bit deeper.

“I’ll take responsibility. It was my fault for not going easier on novices.”

“Please take care of her then, Ushijima-san,” Chie cuts in calmly before Yane can say anything else. “Ayane-san, we need to report this while he takes her to get help.”

“Huh? Wait, Chi-cchi—stop—!” 

You watch in a daze as Chie picks Yane up by the back of her collar and starts dragging her off. Your other male teammates look towards Ushijima expectantly as he crouches down, cocking his head while he examines you. 

“Can you get up?”

“Uh,” you manage, not able to form words because of the lack of coherent thoughts in your brain. The speechlessness is _definitely_ due from the shock of your injury. You sit up so that he isn’t waiting around for you, but you suddenly feel nauseatingly woozy and wince. 

“Here. You can lean on me.” He stands up and then extends a hand. You stare at it dully. You’re supposed to just hold his hand? …just like that? It feels too intimate. Like you don’t deserve to or something. Then he grabs your elbow and hauls you up himself, making you stagger into him. He puts your arm around his waist and gives you another cursory glance.

“Ready?”

You feel like you’re going to pass out again, and not from pain or blood loss. Taking your silence as an affirmative he starts forwards, effectively dragging you along. He’s so much taller than you that his gait makes his waist bump into you, bring the two of you even closer. You try your best not to touch him, clinging onto the back of his shirt, but it’s fairly obvious the two of you are side-hugging. 

“Sorry,” he says once you two leave the gym. The hallway is much cooler, a rush of air hitting you in the face from the vents. It makes you shiver, so you press the cloth harder onto your nose, ignoring the sharp pain that happens when you touch it. 

“Dath ogay,” is all you can get out past the congestion and towel. Not only do you look like some ugly mess, you sound like one, too. Honestly, it’s just getting worse and worse.

He doesn’t say anything further, quietly walking you along. Even though you’ve pretty much regained your strength at this point, his arm around you is still firm on your back. He radiates warmth—maybe that’s just you blushing?—but in any case, it’s uncomfortably hot. 

“[Name], right?”

You thought he was done talking to you, but suddenly he knows your name—not even your surname, but your given name. It’s not hard to connect the dots of how he figured that out. You can still hear Yane screaming woefully in the back of your head. But it makes your heart jump all the same. Not trusting yourself to speak, you nod.

“Nice receive, if that makes you feel better.”

It’s uncharacteristic, even though you hardly know him. He doesn’t seem the joking or sarcastic type. Do you really look so miserable that the stoic Ushijima needs to make a joke for your sake? But you smile anyways, even though it hurts.

“I be on da deam thoon, right?”

When you make it to the infirmary you expect him to drop you off and leave you, but he stays. It’s weird, because even the nurse tells him that he was nice to bring you and he can go back to class—but he insists on sticking around, respectfully sitting in a chair. You don’t think he’s doing it just to get out of phys ed class, what with his whole pro athlete gimmick. His actions only have one meaning.

He’s a nice person.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOW YALL FEELING ABT CHAPTER 372 I LOST MY MARBLES I LOVE HIM SOSJO JOS MJUCHCANJNJA

Even though you feel like your head’s been replaced by a swollen balloon, you go to class anyways. Shiratorizawa is competitive and you can’t waste your admission by skipping class, no matter how much you feel like garbage. But wow… do you _really_ feel like garbage.

“Hey.”

You raise your head groggily from your desk and squint, Okita Rei’s face coming into view. Pre-calc is first period, though you don’t really believe you’ll be doing much learning today. She raises an eyebrow in what you hope is concern and sits in the empty chair in front of you, looking you over.

“I heard what happened. Did you really take Ushijima-san’s serve to the face?”

“Did I?” you reply sarcastically, fully aware that you look like you took an ace’s serve to the face. Rei grimaces.

“You know, you’re getting pretty popular for it. A lot of girls are jealous of you.”

“I’d give up my spot any day,” you mutter, gingerly placing your head down again. The lights are somehow too bright, even through your closed eyes. If your claim to fame was going to be infamy as the person who ate Ushiwaka’s serve, so be it.

“Anyways, did you get the e-mail?”

“What e-mail?” you ask into your arms.

“The callback for the Volleyball Team. Did you get one?”

“They sent those out already?!” Your head jerks up but then your whole body recoils in anger. Much more slowly, you reach for your bag and try digging out your phone. After leaving the infirmary yesterday, Ushijima went back to class and you went home. After making it into your dorm you collapsed all the way until morning, and as such was not capable of checking your phone. (You seriously don’t think that guy’s human.)

There’s no email notification and your heart sinks. Not even a rejection notice?

“Refresh it,” Rei suddenly insists, appearing behind your shoulder to snoop at your screen. Obligingly, you do—and then it pops up.

**You have been selected… _szabvc@shiratorizawa.jpn_**

Not learning from your mistake last time, you whip your head to look at Rei (immediately wincing after). She, always scowling, has finally got a smile on her face and high fives you. Her face mirrors your pained expression after the slap jitters up your arm and makes you feel like your brain rattles around your skull.

“Oops. But hey, this is cool. Looks like we’ll be working together for a while.”

Although you like Rei enough, you can’t help but be excited to just be… _stuck_ with somebody else. You have a partner. Somebody that’ll rely on you just as much as you rely on them. Somebody that will acknowledge you. And, this is your ticket into getting to know those first-year athletes who normally would’ve been so out of reach.

Since the managers and players are separated by year, you virtually have no chance to socialize with any second or third year upperclassmen. Ushijima Wakatoshi, however, is also a first year. You wondered if he’d remember you—following that thought, you wonder why you even care if he cares. 

Rei’s started to talk about the upcoming lesson, so instinctively you tune it out. You can’t help but hear her saying in your head, over and over, _“don’t tell me you have a crush on that guy?”_

You don’t, don’t you? After all, the most intimate interaction you had with Ushijima was stunningly violent. He literally swept you off your feet and knocked you out cold. He’d been nice to walk you to the infirmary and stay until you got the all-clear to go home, but that’s just basic kindness. He knows your name, but that’s only because Yane’s got lungs that carry for days and a tongue too sharp for her own good. At most, you and Ushijima are acquaintances. It’d do you very little good to see him as any more than what you are.

But, even you know that people who tell themselves “I don’t have a crush” have already lost.


	6. Chapter 6

Rei was waiting outside of your English class so that the two of you could head to the gym together. On a happy circumstance you found out Chie, the other girl that had witnessed your almost-murder, was in English with you. She was nice but a little ditzy, in her own world—she napped through the whole class, but when angrily awoken by the teacher, managed to recite the answer perfectly. She was one of those quirky genius types you couldn’t help liking, even if you were a bit jealous. 

“Bye, Chie-chan!” you said, happy to even have somebody to say goodbye to after class. She smiled tiredly and waved, bowing her head to Rei before going off her own way. Even her stride was slow and dazed. People skirted around her to avoid her bumping into them.

“You know Kuromine-san?” Rei asks curiously as the two of you begin your long walk across campus to the gymnasiums. 

“Yeah, a bit. Do you?”

“Not personally, but she got one of the top scores for our year’s entry exam. That’s crazy. I thought she’d be more…”

The two of you share a look, remembering Chie’s disheveled hair and lopsided bow-tie. Definitely a quirky genius type.

“Anyways, what do you think we’ll be doing at practice today?”

“I dunno,” you reply honestly. “You’re the one with volleyball experience… what do you think?”

“Well, I’ve never been a manager. Your guess is as good as mine.” Rei shrugs, rolling her shoulders and throwing her head back with a loud sigh. “Man, I’m already tired!”

You’re with her there. After a grueling 7 periods, you had to march on to practice, which went on until night. You couldn’t even imagine gearing up to get into intensive practice. It’s starting to settle in just what you’ve gotten into.

“I hope it’s just another shadow day,” Rei continues, filling silence as you fall into your thoughts. “I’d be more nervous if they expected us to do… I don’t know, manager duties right away. I mean, do you even know everybody we’re supposed to be managing? All the first years, right?”

“There’s Ushijima-san.”

“Obviously there’s Ushijima-san.” Rei narrows her eyes as she looks at you. “Not obsessed with him or anything after he broke your face, are you?”

“Let’s be fair, he didn’t _break my face_… and you asked if I knew any of the first years we’re managing!” You don’t really know why you’re being so defensive, especially since Rei hasn’t even accused you of anything much. She catches on and nods slowly, though the suspicion stays as an oily gleam in her dark eyes. 

“I bet there’ll be other interesting first years. You know, more accessible boyfriend material.”

“What are you on about?” you protest. “I didn’t become a manager just to find a boyfriend.”

“No, but it’s a perk, right? Like, come on. You have no chance with Ushijima Wakatoshi, but everybody on the team is tall and probably okay-looking, so there’s other options. You don’t need to waste your time just to be heartbroken when you’re not that bad of a catch.”

She has this explaining tone as if it’s a simple logical process, but you’re red in the face. Sure, you don’t have a chance with a star athlete at a powerhouse school, but she doesn’t need to say it like that. Rei’s also so nonchalant about this idea of hooking up with the team… but why _did_ you push so hard to be a manager for the Boys’ team? You already knew you wanted connection, but was there really some kind of pitiful loneliness you were hoping to fill by being the pretty water girl the guys all crush on?

“Hey. [Name]. You know I’m like, joking, right?”

She eyes you warily. Even if she is, it hit a high-strung note. There’s a bit of tension between the two of you now, which you don’t like. Just a few minutes ago, everything was fine. But you’ll be working with Rei for the rest of the school year, so you might as well get used to her. You don’t think she’ll be changing up her act any time soon.

“Yeah, I know.”

“Okay, because like… I’m just saying, for your own good, you shouldn’t crush on popular guys like that. Their fangirls will destroy you, and if he does get with anybody, it just hurts. Like… you’re worth more, you know?”

Her voice drops and when you look at her, her irises have darkened with the unmistakable pain of personal experience. 

“Did… you use to like him? Ushijima-san?”

“Maybe, maybe not!” she retorts, her usual cool manner of speaking broken. Gotcha. “We went to the same junior high, and… ugh, you can figure it out yourself, can’t you?!”

You think you can, yeah. Rei’s the type that hurts easily, and projects to save herself—on you, she sees herself, and she’s just trying to help you avoid whatever she had felt. 

_You have no chance… for your own good. You’re worth more, you know?_

Your heart swells a little in your chest. She’s rough around the edges, but you start to get where she’s coming from.

“What?” she snaps. 

“Rei-chan… you’re a tsundere, aren’t you?”

“I am _not_! God, did you get hit in the head too hard or something?”

“Nope. TsundeRei.”

“I’ll hit you. Harder than Ushijima-san. I will.”

\---

“Ah! So _you_ two are the first-year managers, huh?”

A boy assaults you the second you and Rei change into gym shoes and walk inside. You jump back, startled—Rei holds her ground, craning her neck up. He’s got bright red hair slicked up into sharp points, with a matching angular face. Something about his aura is a little off settling.

“Okita Rei.” A pleasant bow. She’s shorter than you but doesn’t seem bothered that he’s looming and leering. 

The years actually aren’t that segregated, contrary to what the managers had made it seem like. If you and Rei were only to manage first years, you sure couldn’t tell who was younger than who. Everybody had to be 5’10 or above. There were maybe thirty or so people meandering the gym, and all of them looked like peak condition athletes. You had no idea who was in first year or third. You didn’t even know who was actually on the starting team, since you were vaguely aware of the fact that only 6 players stand on the court. They all looked like grown-ups.

“You can call me Tendou,” the boy continued, pulling back, seemingly satisfied. You weren’t sure how this Tendou guy managed to identify you right away—as if he was reading your mind, he added, “I just made a lucky guess! Turns out I was right.”

“This is [Surname] [Name].” Rei introduces you in your awkward silence. Hastily, you bow, not knowing if it’d be disrespectful not to. For all you know, he’s a third year.

“Oh, _[Name]_ [Name]? I heard Wakatoshi hit you in the face or something in gym. Strong girl.” He laughs, though it’s without ill intent—you feel yourself blush. Are you really getting so popular for being the girl who ate it? It’s hard news to hear.

Before you can say anything else to him you hear somebody call yours and Rei’s name—turning, you see a boy waving at you. He’s got a zip up jacket and a clipboard, so it seems like he’s—

“That must be the senior manager,” Rei deduces out loud. She turns to Tendou and bows her head again. “Excuse us.”

“Sure, sure, Pretty Girls. See you around.”

The compliment isn’t supposed to mean anything, you know. But it makes you feel good and puts a kick in your step. Is that so bad? 

You don’t know what you expect from yourself. You don’t know what’s in store. But isn’t that the purpose of high school, anyways—discovery, heartbreak, and rebirth?

Maybe you’re being over-dramatic. In any case, you think you finally feel like you belong somewhere.


	7. Chapter 7

“[Name]-cchi, I didn’t know you were a manager for the Boys’ Volley club!”

The voice comes out of nowhere and before you know it, a body tackles you. It’s so abrupt and out of the blue it feels like you’re being attacked, but when you finally manage to look at the person you recognize Yane’s feline smile straight away. 

“Yane,” you breathe, relieved that it’s actually somebody you know and somebody that isn’t trying to harm you. It’s kind of nice that she acts so familiar with you even though the last time you saw her was gym class. You close your textbooks, having been studying for the chemistry quiz tomorrow. “Yeah, I just got the call-back.”

“Did you see my brother? Was he dorky and dumb?”

“Your brother?” you ask, confused. “Is he a player?”

“No, he’s the senior manager! Natsukawa Takashi!” She says it as if it’s a “duh” thing to know, but it does click in your head. The nice upperclassman who had shown you the ropes yesterday had told you to call him Natsukawa. You didn’t realize he was related to Yane—they have… very different personalities, after all.

“Anyways, I was getting him to spill the tea, and you know what he said? About you?”

“About _me_?” God, if it’s something about how Ushijima hit you in the face, you’re going to drop out and move to a different high school.

“He was talking about how since Ushiwaka’s a regular in his first year, his grades are taking a dive. Can you believe that? Ushiwaka-chan’s bad at something!”

“Well, I guess it makes sense. It’d be really hard to balance school and sports.” You say that, but you have to admit you’re a little surprised. Ushijima has such a commanding aura—it’s why you noticed people always passing the ball to him, over and over, the first time you walked into that gym. He’s the one you look to. He’s the one you trust. But maybe he’s just not so good at studying like he is at volleyball. Nobody’s perfect, not even him. 

…not that you’re implying he would have been perfect because you have any feelings for him. Because you don’t.

“Taki was like, _yeah, he’s been failing his tests so if he does any worse he’ll have to do remedials, and the coach was like RAAAGGGHHHH because then he might get pulled from practices. Sports scholarship kids, amirite?_” She puts on a dramatic voice for her brother, highly entertaining with her matching facial expressions. You smile along but raise an eyebrow.

“Okay, but what does this have to do with me?”

“What, you didn’t get it?” She drops her hands from her bangs that she’d pushed back to be “Takashi”. “They’re going to ask the first year managers—ahem, _you_,—to tutor Ushi.”

“_What_?!”

\---

Although there would’ve been no reason for Yane to lie to you, you still wonder if she was just joking or making things up. _You_. Tutor _the_ Ushijima Wakatoshi. Was it going to be one-on-one? Was Rei going to be there? What if you couldn’t teach him properly and he still performed poorly? Were you going to get kicked off the team?

You frantically relay Yane’s message to Rei when you meet with her before practice. Putting her hair back into her signature pony-tail, she hardly looks fazed as she mumbles through the bobby pins between her lips.

“Well would you look at that. It’s not going to be me, though.”

“Why not?” you whine, feeling helpless that everybody seems to know something you don’t.

“I’m in the college stream, remember? I have even less time than you do because I’m starting credits with the University. It’d be unfair to ask me to tutor as well as commute back and forth, so it’s going to be you.”

Your emotions are a wreck. Panic? Excitement? Relief? Would you feel this way if it was some other guy that didn’t have Ushijima’s name attached to him?

“Ha. You better not have a face like that when you’re actually sitting down together. People’ll talk.”

“Talk about _what_?!”

She puts on a sing-songy voice that grates on your ears. _“How [Name]-chan has a crush.”_

“I don’t—I’m just nervous, okay? Like, what if my teaching isn’t good enough? I’ve never had to tutor anybody before. And I don’t get as good of grades as you, or Chie—”

“Relax, [Name]. You got into this school through the entrance exam, didn’t you?”

You swallow thickly. “Yeah…”

“What was your rank?”

You’re a little embarrassed to say it out loud to Rei, who’s already told you she made it into the college stream. “52nd.”

“Yeah, out of 300 admissions. I was 40th. That’s a good percentile. You’re more than qualified, [Name].”

“It just means there’s 51 people who are smarter than me!” you argue, feeling down on yourself even though Rei’s actively complimenting you. “I’m just a nobody. You should be the one—”

“You’re the manager, aren’t you?” she replies exasperatedly. “Step up to your responsibilities, then.”

It’s blunt and harsh, but it shuts you up. She’s right. You’re already here. You have to do a good job, or they’ll kick you out (maybe)—but in the first place, you have to do actually your job. Even if that means sitting down with one of the scariest people you can think of and trying to teach him trigonometry. 

Oh, great.


	8. Chapter 8

“So, um… that’s the situation, I guess.”

Ushijima wipes sweat off his face with the towel you handed him, listening intently. With a small, thoughtful nod, he pats his jaw. You keep forgetting how unbelievably tall he is for a fifteen, sixteen-year-old Japanese boy. You feel like you have to stand on a bench just to get on level-ish footing with him.

“When are you free?”

He took the news of the tutoring situation a lot more easily than you did. In fact, it doesn’t even seem like news to him. Bewildered, you struggle to remember your schedule.

“Week—weekends?” you stutter out. You’re in all 7 periods and there’s volleyball practice _every_ single afternoon except for weekends. As eager as you are to please, you don’t think 6AM meets before school would be good for your health. He nods once again, curt.

“Saturdays.”

“Oh. Okay. Saturdays. And, uh, where—I guess we could just go to the library, if that’s—”

“The library works.”

“Okay. I’ll see you this Saturday at, um…?”

“Ten. AM. I’ll have finished my run by then.”

Is he insane, going out for runs even on his days off? But he doesn’t even seem fazed, startling you by handing the towel back to you. He doesn’t say “see you” or goodbye; he just turns around and walks back onto the court. His teammates clap him on the shoulder and they resume play almost immediately. You wonder if he actually meant anything he said to you, or if he was too distracted.

You should be relieved that nothing’s happened between you since the “Serving Incident”, but it still kind of stings. He didn’t even say your name once during the whole interaction, merely just… tolerating your presence? It should be expected, probably. Besides, it’s still the first month of school. You haven’t really had time to meet people and grow close to them. If it’s meant to be, it will be.

Still, looking at his broad back wistfully as he leaps up into the air with that mesmerizing form—you kind of wish you could plant and grow the seed of intimacy yourself.

\---

Saturday rolls around and you couldn’t sleep a wink on Friday. It’s embarrassing, you know. Even when you walk across campus to the library, your hands are shaking when you hold them in the air. You stuff them into your pockets and take a deep breath, trying to calm your nerves. You don’t even know why you’re so nervous, but you are. You just can’t help but wonder if Ushijima’s going to be there early, or be the fashionably late type—will you look over-eager if you’re there too early? Irresponsible if you’re late?

You time yourself to get into the building at 10:00 sharp. The academy’s library is only one floor and fairly modest, compared to city sponsored libraries, but the open space is often crowded with the classic Shiratorizawa crammers. Strangers have their books out and headphones up even on a Saturday, the air buzzing with diligence and the familiar weight of academic stress.

He hadn’t given you his number—though, you’ve never seen him use a phone, so you don’t even know if he owns one. Scanning the room, you can’t see his head or face, so maybe you’re the first one here. It gives you even more anxiety, thinking about how he’s going to find you when you’re both plain looking and hidden behind a shelf. There’s nothing you can do but sit and wait, though, and it’s excruciating. 

Yane, a tech savvy girl, had found you on social media and added you. Feeling like you have nobody else to turn to right now, you send her a quick text.

**You: I’m waiting for Ushijima to show up for tutoring. Stressed.  
Ayane N.: hahaha rlly?!? gl with that sis u_u||**

So much for being supportive. You have Rei’s contact, but she probably wouldn’t respond, having a habit of leaving people on read. It’s all you can do to look through your camera roll and pretend you have something interesting to keep you occupied before—

“Sorry I’m late.”

Ushijima actually found you all by himself. He draws up the chair in front of you and you put your phone down, not familiar with him outside of gyms. He’s wearing a lilac track jacket over a black shirt, and you see him in matching lilac shorts before he sits. Does he own anything besides the school uniform and work-out clothes? His hair is dark with sweat, pushed back zig-zaggedly (perhaps from wind?). He drops his bag onto the floor and it thuds heavily with books.

“You’re not late,” you reassure, habitually looking at the time. It’s only 10:06. Shifting in your seat, you try and look taller. It doesn’t work against him. “Um… where should we start?”

“I have my tests,” he prompts, reaching down into his bag. It’s a relief to have a starting point. He pulls out papers, somehow all folded in different ways—one, two. Four. It’s almost funny how he keeps finding new ones. You pull them towards yourself and it’s impossible _not_ to make a face.

“You got… 55 in English, 30 in math, 30 in Japanese Lit, 21 in science… um…”

“Yes.” He says it so earnestly it’s almost like you should apologize to him despite the numbers being clear. Matter-of-factly, he mentions, “I got here on a sports scholarship.”

“Well, uh. Y-you passed in… English…”

“Yes.” Another silence before he suddenly adds on, “I learnt from watching the Olympics with my father. It was broadcasted in English sometimes.”

You don’t know how somebody scores these low of marks. You feel like even if you were blindfolded and filled out a scantron at random, you might’ve gotten a higher grade. He couldn’t answer the question about what the _mitochondria_ was. You don’t mean to be… well, mean, but. Shiratorizawa is a school full of elites in all their fields—you didn’t think Ushijima Wakatoshi would suck so bad at academics. He’s got such a confidence around him that makes you think he can do anything. Apparently, he doesn’t remember how to do long division. 

He really is just some volleyball obsessed jock.

“I’ll do my best to learn from you,” he declares suddenly, bowing his head respectfully. You jump, clutching onto the test papers that are full of his surprisingly neat but very incorrect handwriting. He doesn’t seem overly concerned—probably because his place at this school is _very_ secure—but his expression is quite earnest and unusually gentle. You haven’t really seen him up close when he’s not occupied with sports. Your shoulders relax a bit. 

“I’ll do my best to teach you, then.”

Lord knows he needs it.


	9. Chapter 9

“So…?”

“…so what.”

Rei scoffed as she marked another point down on her clipboard before turning her attention back to you. No matter how hard you try to avoid her gaze, it burns into you.

“Ushijima-san. How are these little dates coming along?”

“They’re not _dates_. It’s very professional.” You mark down 3’s cross-shot, your lead breaking with the force of it. Angrily clicking your pencil, you know Rei’s internally laughing at the red flush coming down hot over your cheeks.

“Okay. Sure. But really, I’m curious. What’s he like?”

You chew on the inside of your cheek, thinking back. A grimace unknowingly settles across your face.

“He’s… okay? I guess. He’s nice and says he understands when I go through things, but when I ask him to re-do a question, he kind of just… stalls. So it feels like he just says he gets things to make me feel better. I dunno.”

“Jocks.” Rei shakes her head with obvious nerd-biased disapproval. “All they can think about is sports.”

“He’s got a quiz this Friday for math and I’m getting kind of worried. Like, he’s earnest and all, but I don’t know if he’s actually getting anything out of my lessons. You know?”

“Yeah, I’ve got a younger brother. He’s stupid. Can’t drill a single times table into that kid.” She flips her page, bouncing her crossed leg. “It helps if you play along with them and relate it to something they actually get. My brother’s obsessed with video games, so I just make him put it into that world. Stuff like that.”

“Something they actually get…”

The two of you jump when the all-too-familiar sound of Ushijima’s spike smashes your eardrums. Rei glances at you pointedly and you hurriedly mark it down, your pencil trailing faint graphite lines as you think. Ushijima cocks his head and puts his hand up for a high-five, turning his back to you. You purse your lips.

\---

“U-um, Ushijima-san?”

He looks up, surprised to see you. You’re surprised, too, not knowing how you found enough confidence to march into his classroom alone. It feels like everybody’s staring at you as you walk up to his desk. Your knees feel like they’re wobbly Jell-O and you clench your fingers around the red duotang in your arms. You hear people talking. Of course, you understand that they’re probably having conversations totally unrelated to you, but it still feels like everybody’s whispering about you.

“[Surname],” he says in return, blinking up at you. He doesn’t use honourifics with anybody his age, you know, but it still makes your heart all stupid fluttery. You have yet to see him in the school uniform, always in gym clothes. Surprisingly, he looks plain… very much normal. Although he’s clearly bigger and fitter than most of the other guys in his class, he looks far more approachable than he does whenever he stands on a court in shorts and a dark t-shirt.

“So, about the FOIL technique we were talking about for your quiz. I just wanted to, uh, try describing it in another way. If that’d help.”

“Sure.” He’s never been anything but easy-going, making you wonder why you’re stressing out about this so hard. Too late to back out of it now, though. You open the duotang, cringing at your childish drawings, but swallow your shame in the name of education.

“So, um. See the volleyball over the number out front?”

“Yes.” He bends his head down to pay intent attention. 

“You have to, um. ‘Pass’ it. To this guy here. So you’ve got 2a times a… that’s what?”

“2 a squared.”

“Then,” you continue, drawing another line from the stick man serving the “volleyball”, “it goes way out here—”

“Back row.”

You look up. He’s deep in thought, putting a hand up to his chin as he nods to himself. Hastily, you remember Rei’s words about playing along.

“Uh, yes! Sure. To the back row this time. That’s 2a times negative 7, so—”

“Negative 14a.”

“Right! Then these inside people pass to each other. Um, the setter to… this guy?”

“Okay.”

“Then these last two will pass to each other—”

“Wing spiker hits to libero.”

“Yeah. And then you combine all the terms that are the same but with different coefficients. Um, all the players that are on the same team go together. Does that make a little more sense?”

“Yes.” He looks up and blinks, gold eyes shimmering with a light you haven’t noticed yet. “Thanks.”

It’s flat and succinct. To any of the outsiders listening in, he might sound ungrateful—but you start to think you’re getting the art of reading Ushijima Wakatoshi’s countenance, and he seems genuinely pleased. He always gets to the point. For him, there’s no need to dance around anything by being fake or telling white lies. It is how it is. You can’t help yourself from grinning shyly.

“Great. Let me know how your quiz went at practice later, will you?”

“Sure. Thanks again, [Surname].”

You get up and scurry out of the class, not able to handle the thought of people thinking about you or staring any longer. It’s a shame you evacuated so quickly. You missed his smile.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ushijima: exists  
me: omgomgomgomgogmogmogmgomgomgogmogmogmgomgogmogmogmogmgogm

“So, thinking forwards to our upcoming Spring training camp…”

Natsukawa flips through his clipboard frantically. The other five people, you and Rei included, watch awkwardly as papers slip from his grasp and cascade to the floor. At these manager meetings, you can’t help but feel the consensual atmosphere that the senior manager is as big of a dork as his younger sister claims he is.

“We’ll only be pulling one trainer from each team since it’s overkill to have all six of us there. Jizaema’s gonna go in my place for the third years.”

The red-haired girl waved a lazy hand, though everybody already knew her—despite acting as Natsukawa’s second-in-command, Jizaema Yaeko was skilled in sports medicine and led all the other trainers through their sports med and first aid training. A unanimous breath of relief that Natsukawa wasn’t heading the charge swept through the group.

“For the second years, we’ll have Guen Aki.”

Everybody shot a glance over to the pair of second year trainers. The dark-haired kid with glasses sits up sharply, clearly brought back to Earth from some daydream by the sound of his name. The other boy beside him elbows him and grins, shooting up two hitch-hiker thumbs.

“Any problems?” Natsukawa asks without looking up.

“No, comma, sir. I’ll make magic happen.”

You see Rei’s eyelashes flutter with contempt as he and the other boy high-fived. You’ve known her long enough to read her mind: _what kind of loser says the word comma out loud…_

“And for the first years—”

You didn’t know what you expected or wanted to feel. Of course, you’d like to go. The promise of a school trip instead of a weekend in the dorms was exciting. But Rei was smarter than you, and a faster talker than you, so what if—?

“[Surname] [Name].” You didn’t even have enough time to have your full mental panic. Natsukawa glanced up at you when he didn’t hear a response. “Good to go?”

“What? Oh! Yeah, yes? I am!” you stammer, realizing everybody was looking at you. Your face warms with embarrassment when you notice Rei look away, her gaze dropping to her nails disinterestedly.

“Great.” He took back the papers Jizaema had scooped up for him, not realizing yet another one had dropped to the floor in the process. “We’re all set!”

Rei crossed her arms and huffed under her breath. 

When the meeting breaks you have to catch up to her in haste. She usually waits around for you to pick up your bag, but today she swings off without a word. It’s as you expected, isn’t it? She must be pissed that you got picked to go instead of her. Maybe you could just leave her alone and let her work off her steam at her own pace, but you still feel like you want to talk to her to know where you’re at instead of just leaving it all up to chance. It’s kind of sad to say out loud, but Rei is one of your few friends at Shiratorizawa, and you’re not keen on letting that die out in the first month of term. 

“Uh, Rei—?” you begin timidly, a million lead-ups working through your mind.

“I’m not mad!” she spits out suddenly, sounding kind of mad. Then she slows down and takes a deep breath. Looking up at you, she grimaces slightly, but her expression softens when she meets your eyes. She rubs her forehead, scowling. Understanding that you need to give her room to think, you freeze in your steps.

“I mean, _okay_, I’m kinda jealous. I’ve always been picked for everything I wanted to do, you know? But I’m fine. I just need a minute to get over myself. Besides, it’ll be good for you to go. You haven’t gotten around much since coming to school here, right? Especially around the city?”

“Y-yeah?” you agree, bewildered by her extremely quick change of mood. She pursed her lips thoughtfully and your heart warmed in your chest. Even though she admitted that she was jealous of you, she was trying her best to be supportive. It’s more than you can ask for.

“I need to study for pre-calc too. So logically, this is all for the best. I’m frustrated, but… that just means I’ll have to do better so you don’t beat me, right?” Her smile seems the most genuine you’ve seen it yet. “You’ll video-chat me to let me know what’s happening, won’t you?”

“Of course.”

“Then it’s all good.” She looks thoughtful but then seems to decide, looking away suddenly. “Look, I’m sorry if you think I’m a difficult person. I get that I can be like…”

“Rough around the edges?” you offer up. She aggressively pulls on the tip of her ponytail that hangs at her shoulders and nods curtly.

“Yeah, that. But I’m doing my best. So… ugh. I just wanna say.” She squeezes her eyes shut. “I’m really thankful we’re friends, [Name]!”

She suddenly goes shy, turning away sharply as if something on the blank wall could’ve possibly caught her interest. You can only smile to her back, but you do anyways. You had nothing to worry about.

“I’m happy we’re friends too. TsundeRei.”

“Hey, what did I say about calling me that?!”

\---

Since you were a dorm student, it was more complicated to get parental permission than usual. But with a steep learning curve later, the faxed permission slip was sent in, and you were all cleared.

It was exciting. An away trip with minimal parental supervision. You hadn’t been on many of those before, much less with a whole group of people who were practically strangers. You’d thought up big dreams of yourself of being some sort of sudden social cornerstone, friends with everybody on the team—but quite frankly, you’d been too shy to talk to these monstrously tall and sweaty and smelly high school boys, and the only person you talked to regularly at practice was Rei… who was no longer going to be there.

Well. They say catastrophe is the best catalyst.

“Hey, First Year. You look stiff.”

The sudden address startles you and you look around for the source of the voice. Somebody taps you on the shoulder and you turn around, having to crane your neck up (though this action was getting normal at this point in your manager career). The glasses kid… he was a second-year trainer. 

“Um…?”

“Guen. I’m half-Vietnamese. And _you’re_ the girl that got nailed—”

“By Ushijima-san’s serve, yes,” you chorus bitterly. Was this going to shadow you even until your senior year? Guen laughs amiably.

“Right, yeah. What’s your name?”

“[Surname] [Name].”

“Nice; that’s easy to remember. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you around. Did you go to the junior high?”

“No,” you reply honestly, grateful to be having a casual conversation despite the ungodly early hour of the day. “I transferred in.”

When you told him your hometown, you were secretly pleased by the awed expression raising his eyebrows. Shyly, you nodded as he complimented you for making such a trip to Shiratorizawa. It was, after all, one of the best schools in Miyagi. You could’ve settled for one closer to home, but… something had said _climb mountains;_

_if you can._

Despite being your upperclassman, Guen had such an easy-going attitude to him that you found yourself fast friends. He liked video games; already, you could tell he was one of those otaku types. He didn’t play volleyball himself, instead being on the Swim and Dive team in junior high—when asked about why he’d quit that to be a manager, he merely pushed his glasses up his nose and told you his hair dried out too much due to chlorine and got ugly. It seemed like a half-assed answer. But, showing himself to be the type to take nothing seriously, you couldn’t really tell if he was joking or not.

The group going out to Sendai was huge and filled up the entire bus. You helped load their suitcases and duffel bags, straining with the weight of all of it. Guen laughed at you as you grunted animatedly, struggling with the Tetris of fitting everything inside the undercarriage. You were a bit ashamed to admit how excited you were with loading the giant charter bus, but you couldn’t help it—this was it. A weekend trip where anything could happen.

Boy… were you right on that ‘anything’ bit.


	11. Chapter 11

“Hey, [Name]-chan? That’s you, right?”

“Hm? O-oh, yes, Jizaema-senpai?”

You straightened up like a stick, frightened to be spoken to directly by the third-year manager. You’d never talked to her directly before, only ever receiving the general speeches at the very beginning of the recruitment process. She was a gorgeous girl, with deep red hair blended out from black roots. Her terracotta eyes seemed to flicker, complimented by the coolness in her face, and her body was so unfairly shaped that it took a lot for you not to stare. She leant down over your seat in the aisle, Guen having claimed the window one without even giving you a choice.

“Nah, call me Yaeko. I don’t dig that honourific jazz. It’s too stuffy.” She stuck her hand in a blue bag slung around her shoulder and dug out a box, handing it to you. Numbly, you accepted it without even thinking. 

“You mind heading to the back and giving that to Takao? He’s got crazy motion sickness and I dunno if he took his pills yet. Don’t want our captain yarfing before the practice games.”

“Sure, no problem!”

“Lifesaver, [Name]-chan.” She grinned and went back to her seat, putting headphones back up and flicking her hair back as she settled in comfortably. Ah…the third-year takes advantage of the first-year. A tale as old as time. Guen snickered at you, also immersed into his electronics despite the bus having left a mere few minutes ago.

“Don’t get eaten up on the way,” he warned snidely. You shot him a dirty look.

“What, like delivering pills is out of my scope?”

He shrugged, distracted by the flashy lights on his device. You got up, unbuckling your seat belt. The ground was wobbly, but that wasn’t the thing that unsettled you most. What was worst of all was suddenly seeing thirty strong teenage boys before you, each big and moving in frightening ways, the way wild animals do at the zoo that makes everybody move back from the glass. Suddenly, you understood Guen’s comment.

_This is fine!_ you tried to reassure yourself. _All I’m doing is walking past everybody to give Takao-san his pills. No biggie. Nobody’s looking at you._ You were even doing okay, shuffling along. But then the bus suddenly changed lanes and veered sharply left, causing you to lose balance. With a yelp you slammed your hand down on the first thing to catch you from falling, and it just so happened to be oddly round… 

“Are you all right, [Surname]?”

Aw, shit.

You looked down at Ushijima, whose usually neat hair had suddenly been disturbed from its combed style. Your fingers rested in a claw on top of his scalp. Looking hardly bothered, he raised an eyebrow at you as your white-knuckle grip shot up and moved to the seat top in front of him. Tendou, distinctive anywhere, guffawed mercilessly.

“Man, you totally got Wakatoshi-kun! What’s up with that? Are you trying to take out our up-and-coming ace?”

“I’m fine!” you warbled out, trying not to burst out into tears. “I’m so sorry!”

Ushijima didn’t even bother combing his hair back into place, nodding calmly instead. “Be careful,” he added, as if you hadn’t considered being careful was important. Leaning back into his seat, he closed his eyes, crossing his arms as if nothing had happened at all. Tendou was still giggling away, hiding his oh-so-wide grin under one skeletal hand. If you didn’t have their attention before, you sure as hell did now, and it devastated you to hear yours and Ushijima’s names in the same line _again_.

_“Yo, the girl just like, clocked Ushiwaka.”_

_“Seriously? Damn, I missed it.”_

_“Y’know those gachas?” _

_“Who’s that again?”_

You blocked everything out of your mind and raced to the end of the bus, so determined not to repeat the same mistake that you felt like your feet had been hot-glued to the bus floor. Takao wasn’t a very distinctive person in looks, but being the captain, you knew his face better than anybody else’s. You recognized him immediately, chatting with somebody in the row in front of him.

“Takao-san?” you butted in once he noticed you standing there awkwardly. “Yaeko asked me to give you these.”

“Oh, yeah? Thanks, I totally forgot!”

You beamed, grateful for the praise to temporarily erase the catastrophe that had just occurred from your short-term memory. Takao grabbed the box of chewable ginger pills from you, shaking them in thanks. They rattled. Mission complete.

Now to go back through the crowd, all of whom had witnessed you snatch Ushijima Wakatoshi in the head. And, you’d have to pass by Ushijima Wakatoshi himself.

Ah… life. Effervescent.

You tip-toed along, sneaking glances to the boys on either side of you as you stealthily stalked along. You tried to make yourself as small as possible, which was kind of hard, being the only person standing on a moving vehicle. But to your relief, everybody seemed totally distracted already, playing games on mobile devices or struggling to balance cards between them without a table. You were almost all clear until somebody hissed your name. With cold dread dripping down your back, you turned around. It was Tendou. Of course it was Tendou. He was still in the window seat—he gestured to his right and then made a shushing motion with his finger. You shifted your gaze. Ushijima had somehow nodded off in all of one minute, his head falling forwards and then jerking back up periodically. His arms were crossed loosely, tightening the white and maroon windbreaker around himself. His hair was still fluffy in the place you had grabbed him (accidentally!), but his mouth hung open, and he was… 

Kinda cute.

Tendou was giving you some serious side eye that you tried to ignore in the sake of what little scraps of composure you had left. You rolled your eyes at him instead and made your way back to your seat, collapsing into it.

“Jeez, that took you a while. You get lost or something?” Guen asked without even looking up as you buckled yourself back in. You groaned, hating the reminder.

“So, get this. I just like, claw-machine grabbed Ushijima-san in the head.”

“Say what?!” He spared you a single shocked look, which was the most respect you were going to get out of him.

“It’s not like I did it on purpose!” you complained, not wanting to explain yourself after that mortifying ordeal. 

“Heh,” Guen chuckled, his lips raised into a grin as he clicked buttons furiously. “Looks like you two first years are even on this weirdo hit list now, huh? What’s with the violence? Swear it wasn’t like this last year.”

“There’s no hit list.”

“Better watch your back. Ushiwaka’s gonna make you dig a serve or something. Heh.”

“You’re evil. Don’t even say that out loud. What if it comes true?”

“Heh.”

“_Guen_!”

And Ushijima, behind you, snored away peacefully—hair still parted awkwardly at the back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my lungs collapse every time i see ushijima, esp in the final arc of the manga. if he speaks, i'm sorry to anybody reading my fics because i will have passed away instantly. i've stanned 1 (one) beef balls for like 4 years god i love him so fuckgingngn MUCHNNjn


	12. Chapter 12

“Hey, [Name].”

The drive out of Sendai to the smaller city-perimeter town wasn’t a bad one, so it wasn’t long before Yaeko was towering over yours and Guen’s seats again. She continued once she noticed you look up at her, blinking blearily from your very short nap.

“How well can you cook?” she continued, her hair swinging as she peered down at you. Despite the situation being very casual, you couldn’t help but feel pressured to give a correct answer.

“Uh, I’m okay at it. I guess. Why?”

“It’s tradition for managers to cook lunches for camp. Dinner gets catered later, but you guys will be handling lunch today and tomorrow. It’d better be good since the boys always get super cranky after their Boot Camp From Hell drills.” She chortled good-naturedly, but the strike of dread hit you like a lightning bolt.

“What about you, Yaeko?” you asked nervously. You also shot a pleading look to Guen, but somehow, he was still playing the same video game, eyes glued to his screen. Useless otaku.

“Seniority card—I get to go shopping all afternoon! Kidding.” She stuck out her tongue with an elegant peace sign. “I have to spectate the practices.” 

Noticing your expression which had to reflect your disappointment, she grinned. “Don’t worry; it’s not like you’ll miss anything. It’s just boring workshop drills and stuff. Like, 1000 receives type of crap. The practice matches are actually interesting, and those only happen after lunch, so you guys’ll get experience then. Aki knows. Right, Aki?”

“Uh huh,” he mumbled reflexively, giving no hint as to whether or not he was actually listening.

“If any grody injuries happen, I’ll be sure to come get you. Once we had a broken foot and it like turned 180 degrees. Man, that was _wild_.”

You weren’t sure how you felt about your senior practically salivating at the thought about somebody’s injury, and her enthusiasm was slightly unsettling. In any case, it looked like you had suddenly, without your input, acquired the role of chef.

Bon Appetit.

\---

Guen was a surprisingly reliable guy. You were happy to let him lead with the meal plan, since apparently, the both of you had to muster up enough food for thirty something teenage boys. Of course, you got stuck doing menial work like chopping garlic and grating ginger, but it was kind of nice to have something mindless to do while the two of you chatted. You learnt a lot about each other; he was an older brother to two twin little sisters, had a Vietnamese father and a Japanese mother but was born and raised in Miyagi, and was also somehow really good at mental math.

“Thirty-six times two hundred and seven!” you shot out, passing behind him to open the rice cooker.

“Five thousand three hundred and… eighty-two,” he replied instantly. He smirked, self-satisfactorily. “You’ll have to try harder than that to beat me.”

“Too bad you can’t use those smarts for like. Jap Lit or something.”

“Okay, just because I can do math doesn’t mean I can read. Illiteracy is a _disease_.”

So, cooking actually ended up being pretty fun. Yaeko checked back a couple hours later to see how you were faring and looked reasonably pleased as she peeked under the foils of trays you and Guen had set out.

“Looks tasty. I could smell it down the hall. You guys are way better than I was last year.”

By the time lunch actually rolled around, you hadn’t even noticed how much time had passed. Your own stomach was grumbling in your gut, constantly being harassed and taunted by the smell of food. Yaeko came back to chip in a hand at noon, helping to set the tables.

“All right!” the younger coach, and also the _nicer_ coach, Saitou, announced loudly. “Give a hand to our trainers.”

“Thanks for the food,” the boys chorused, and you wondered what they’d been through to sound so dead. Each one looked like their soul had been drained out of them.

Yours, too, once you realized where you were going to be sitting.

This was entirely by chance, right? Dumb misfortune? But Yaeko had somehow played her cards so that you were seated next to none other than: Ushijima Wakatoshi. Guen was way down at the far end with other second years.

“Well, what are you waiting for? Dig in,” Yaeko chimed. It took everybody no time at all to reach with their chopsticks, scrambling for meat and vegetables—you had to sit back into your chair, intimidated. It was a goddamn warzone. 

“Everything is delicious, [Surname]-san.” Somebody spoke to you, relatively closely; when you looked across the table, a tan dark-haired boy smiled. You didn’t quite remember his name, but luckily the person beside him jabbed him with an elbow.

“Flirting with the managers already, Reon?”

“I’m just paying compliments where it’s due,” Reon retorted calmly. “You could learn some manners too, Eita.”

“Well. Yeah. This is damn good.” Eita jabbed his chopsticks at you appreciatively. Tendou, who had somehow become your shadow, leant over the table to Ushijima—whom you were avoiding so hard you were sitting on the rightmost edge of your chair, half a butt cheek hanging off.

“Wakatoshi? What do you have to say?”

Ushijima looked up, rice clinging to his bottom lip.

“It tastes like home.”

The words were delivered so simply that everybody somehow shut down simultaneously, staring in silence. Your brain was fried. Remembering you should say thank you, you stammered something relatively grateful out of your frozen lips.

“Well _jeez_,” Tendou replied smarmily. “Keep the flirting to yourself, big guy.”

“I-it was mostly—”

“[Name]-chan did all the cooking!” Guen suddenly hollered from his place at the end. You had no idea how he had the ears to be listening in to your conversation from this distance, but his black eyes glinted mischievously behind his blue glasses. He grinned when he saw your horrified expression. “Yeah, all thanks go her way.”

“I—!” you tried to protest, but already, a roar of thanks in your name erupted in the room. How could one’s face get so hot? At this point, it’d be worthless to explain the trtuth. You sank into your chair, wishing you could vanish. Tendou laughed as he suddenly dropped some carrots into your bowl.

“Now, now. Don’t be shy, [Name]-chan. Don’t let us hog all your hard work.”

“Let me know if you can’t reach anything,” Reon added. Shyly, you wound up enough panic-courage to glance over at Ushijima. He was eating dutifully, scooping rice into his mouth from his bowl. He said nothing else, but honestly, his words were the ones that stuck with you most: 

_it’s like home_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WBEBEBEWBWEBWBEBWEBWE CHAPTER 378 WBWB IM SOCBBING ALL OVE RMYSLEFL


	13. Chapter 13

What is this, some kind of fanfiction?

After dinner, you and Guen still had work to do. Shiratorizawa really puts your nose to the grindstone non-stop. Tired but full, the two of you joined Yaeko in spectating the practice matches. Assigned to the first years, you dutifully logged every single play done by players in pink pinnies. Guen was wandering somewhere else in the gym, watching blue, and Yaeko was marking white. It was exhausting work, keeping track of everybody’s movements. You really could’ve used Rei’s help here… or her company, even.

In the end, it was no surprise that Ushijima touched the ball the most of the first years and landed the most points. You were however taken aback to see that he was only 2 points behind Takao, the team’s ace, who was in his third year. You didn’t know much, but that had to be impressive, right? They clapped him on the shoulder, praising him as he stood rigidly, nodding politely.

The managers got first leave to go to the baths as the rest of the team finally went through cooldown and post-conference. The inn that was rented was modest, but still an exciting experience for you, who hadn’t travelled alone much. You showered quickly and then meandered the halls with Guen, discovering nooks and crannies and scoping out the vending machines. When it was lights out time, you found Yaeko, figuring you were rooming with the only other girl here.

“My uncle lives close by, so you’ve got a room to yourself. Just ask the front for the room card.”

Easy enough. A room all by yourself instead of the fours everybody else was being divided into? Sounds luxurious! You went, gave them your name, and got the card. Room 11. The inn was quite small and everybody was on the first floor. Backing up to the wall, you let a pair of lanky boys sprint past you, clearly racing to the baths. Room 11, room 11…? Here. You swiped it open, fully ready to charge in and flop on the bed since you had it to yourself, but—

“Oh. Uh …hello?” You froze halfway through your run-up, terrified by the body who had materialized in front of you.

“Hello.” The figure in the room turned around. He cocked his head, half-way through grabbing clothes out of his gym bag. The two of you stared at each other blankly.

“Are we… um… am…” You gestured uselessly with your hands. “What?”

“I guess we’re sharing a room.” 

Everything that came out of Ushijima Wakatoshi’s mouth sounded so nonchalant, like _duh_, why would you ask such a stupid question like ‘are we sharing a room’? But it wasn’t a stupid question. This was a very real, pressing question, because _what the hell is Ushijima doing in your room_. It wasn’t like he’d broken in or anything because he had been here first. So, were _you_ the culprit? Had the front desk given you the wrong key? But, this room was the only one meant to be shared by two girls instead of four boys, so obviously, there was a difference of space. Your face was already steaming red before you begun to speak, weakly pointing behind him.

“But, um… Ushijima-san, there’s only one bed…?”

“Is that a problem?” He glanced down at it confusedly. It was a twin. Tiny. One blanket, two pillows. He was over six feet. You were not. He was a boy. You were not.

_Yes, there’s a goddamn problem!_

“I can sleep on the ground if you’d like,” he offered, turning back to you. Your stomach wound itself into knots. That was probably the best option, but you felt incredibly bad if you subjected him to sleep on the cold carpet while he was practicing so hard.

“No, that’s okay,” you said, trying not to groan or grind your teeth. “I’ll sleep on the ground. It’s fine.”

“You have to take the bed. Men shoulder the burdens of women.” Again, he said it so committedly that a part of you went _oh, yup—silly me!_ It sounded so classic… he must’ve been raised by a traditional kind of father. You winced, knowing you wouldn’t be able to change his mind, but not really wanting to since the floor seemed like the greater of two evils. 

“Okay… well, what if one of us sleeps under the covers and the other goes on top?” That way, there’d at least be a little separation between the two of you. If you hallucinated hard enough you could think away his presence.

“I can sleep on top,” he decided without hesitation. “I get too warm anyways.” He held up his clothes. “I’m going to go take a bath. Excuse me.”

“Right; see you.”

He left, the door clicking shut. Immediately, you whipped out your phone to text Rei, dropping to your knees in grief.

**You: REIIII WHATGD DO I DOOO!?!?!?!??!!?!??!?!!?!?  
Rei: Can’t you ask the front desk to switch rooms?  
You: THEY CLOSED AN HOUR AGOOOOOOOOOOO  
Rei: … don’t let him try anything funny???**

He came back unexpectedly shortly, and you practically dropped your phone onto the floor when the door clicked open again. You whipped around to face him. Damn; you’d forgotten how quickly guys can get ready. His hair was flat to his face and nearly black, saturated with water. It wasn’t an uncommon sight—sweaty guys were your everyday view at this point. In practice he’d worn a black Shiratorizawa shirt with some gym shorts—for pyjamas, he was wearing a white Shiratorizawa shirt with gym shorts. So much for changing it up or having a flare for fashion.

“Good night,” he declared, nodding at you. He lay down onto the right side of the bed, where he’d already set down his bag, not even taking a sheet with him. He just lay down on top of the blankets. He closed his eyes, and just like that… silence. He looked like he was acting out a dead body in a coffin and would spring up at any moment. But, after you stood there awkwardly, perfectly still with baited breath for a good five minutes, you were pretty sure he’d actually just passed out. 

What the hell is this guy made out of?

Slowly, you crept over to your side of the bed on the left. You couldn’t believe you were doing it, but what choice did you have any more? You lifted the blanket, untucking it from the side of the bed, wincing every time you made a noise. He didn’t move, still masterfully performing his cosplay as a log. You got into bed, keeping as far away as you possibly could. Even though he was a large boy and it was a small bed, you managed to create enough space to not even feel the dip his body made in the mattress. But, you still felt like you could feel him breathing on the back of your neck or something. Your hands and feet hung off the bedside in your efforts, growing numb. Reaching to the table, you turned the light off. With painfully slow movements you stuck your earplugs in and put down your face mask. Though, the silence and darkness didn’t help. It made everything worse than it already was because you could visualize him more clearly now, rolling up beside you or something, curling up behind you to your form… moving slowly, you held your uncomfortably hot face in your hands. 

Looks like you already hit that ‘slept together’ base.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ya it's one of my fave cliches i'm NOT sorry!  
and i'm rlly trying to crank up my words published before '19 ends so YES to quick updates! unprecedented from me


	14. Chapter 14

Somehow, you had managed to fall asleep by the force of pure exhaustion alone, though it was most definitely a restless night. You were tormented in your dreams by thoughts of being shamed by ancestors you had never seen before in your life. Waking up, it felt like all you had done was blink, but your phone’s alarm was ringing incessantly.

You sat up slowly, sliding the eye mask off of your face. Mustering the courage, you peeked to your left. Nobody else was in the bed with you. There was a quiet rustling and you looked down to the floor, seeing Ushijima kneeling while knotting up black shoes. He blinked up at you and you tried not to make a face.

“Good morning,” you rasped.

“Good morning. Did you sleep well?”

“Fine,” you lied. “You?”

“I was all right.”

Clearing your throat of phlegm, you couldn’t help but look at his hair, wondering how he didn’t have a massive flat spot of bed-head. It looks like it did every other day, combed neatly over his handsomely angular face.

“You don’t have a cold, do you?” you prompted, hating yourself for bringing it up the second you did. You flinched, but he hardly seemed bothered, standing up instead. He was still in the clothes he’d slept in yesterday. 

“No. Why would I?”

“W-well.” You straightened up in bed, sitting cross-legged. “My mom always told me not to sleep with wet hair, and last night, you… um.” You waved your hands around. “I just worried… especially since you didn’t have a blanket… Sorry, forget I said anyth—”

“My mother would say the same thing.” His lips twitched up into a fond smile that made your heart stop in your chest. “But I don’t have time for that, and I don’t get sick anyways, so it’s fine. Thank you for your concern, [Surname].”

He turned, obviously getting ready to leave for practice. Before he did, he looked back at you, hand on the door knob. You stiffened nervously when his heavy gaze fell over you once again.

“I’m looking forwards to lunchtime.”

“Oh. Um, thanks! I’ll do my best.”

He nodded, satisfied, and opened the door. You watched his broad back recede into the hallway before the door fell shut, locking with a gentle click. Finally, you were alone with your own thoughts. With a groan you threw yourself back into the bed, burying your head under your pillow.

_Not fair._

\---

“Morn—whoa. You look like ass, [Surname].”

“Thank you. I tried,” you replied acridly to Guen, who even made a show of sliding his glasses up to peer judgementally at you. You hadn’t bothered with the baths, too scared to go anywhere where you could be seen. You had rolled your tangled hair up into some half-assed rat’s nest bun and showed up to the kitchen in your pyjamas. Guen whistled, crossing his arms.

“Are you the type who can’t sleep anywhere but their own bed?”

“Sure, let’s say it was that,” you muttered, so tired from your lack of sleep and emotional exhaustion that all you could come up with was sarcastic retorts. His brow twitched.

“Hey, are you really okay?” Guen asked. His personality did a 180. The older brother switch must’ve flicked on. He reached out to touch your shoulder with genuine concern. You’d been so tense from holding everything in for so long that even though you knew it probably wasn’t the best idea to share, you had to let somebody else know.

“Ushijima and I shared a bed last night,” you blurted out. The relief was only minimal. The dread? Overwhelming.

“What? You—wait, _what_?”

“Just like, sleeping on it,” you tried to explain, hastily tripping over your syllables. “Nothing else. I don’t know why, but we were in the same room.”

“That’s… weird.”

“Yes,” you agreed flatly. ‘Weird’ wasn’t nearly enough to encapsulate the experience. “It was.”

“Why didn’t you kick him out?”

“Because he’s like… Ushijima Wakatoshi? I can’t just kick somebody out of their room! He had a key card.”

“You could’ve made him gone into anybody else’s bedroom,” Guen argued. “He’s a dude. You’re not.”

“I…” 

Shit. He’s right; you definitely could’ve just shooed Ushijima off. If he had somehow landed in room 11, that meant there had to be an empty bed somewhere else down the hall. If you had any ounces of brain cells left, you should have been able to figure that out. In your defence, his mere presence had short circuited what little thinking power you’d possessed last night, leading you into this ever-deeper hole.

“[Name], are you okay? If something happened, you can tell me.” Guen, who was still quite a bit taller than you, lowered himself so he was eye-level with you. Your heart burst with the feeling of having a reliable older brother.

“Honestly, nothing happened. I swear.”

“Okay. Well, we should still bring this up to the coaches… I mean, a mistake like that’s on the front desk. But still.”

“Do we have to?” you asked quietly, your stomach turning with nausea. Your fingers drummed on your legs anxiously. “I mean, we can just pretend it never happened.”

“I’ll go with you,” he reassured, but it wasn’t helping. “We don’t have to tell Washijo, either. Saitou’s easier to talk to.”

“I don’t want to cause trouble for anybody.”

“If _I_ had ended up in your room, I would’ve had the common sense to switch out, no matter what. He didn’t.” Guen frowned, expression darkening. “If this happened to one of my sisters, I wouldn’t forgive it. We’re telling a coach.”

“But—!”

“It’s fine, [Name]. Nobody’s going to get in any trouble or anything. But I’m going to talk to him personally. It’s an upperclassman’s duty.”

He conked you on the top of a head with a closed, light fist, but it didn’t make you feel any better. Suddenly you regretted opening your mouth at all. It didn’t matter that Guen had your best interests in mind—what would happen to Ushijima, even though he’d done nothing wrong?

\---

All throughout lunch you were deathly silent. You clung to Guen’s side, hoping that maybe if you kept an eye on him he wouldn’t start anything with the coach or Ushijima. Everybody else seemed lively, enjoying their food—you ate nothing, your gut tied into knots. Guen had dropped the issue so far, chatting away with his fellow second years about games and anime. You became a wallflower, doing your best to control yourself and not look around for Ushijima.

“[Name]-chan, you’re pale as a ghost! What’s up with you?!” 

Yaeko noticed your apparently haggard appearance as the two of you cleared up plates and garbage. You cringed. It’d be nice to confide in her, too, but you already regretted the last one too much, so you merely gave her a weak smile.

“Maybe I’m coming down with a bug,” you lied, spitting out the first excuse that came to mind. She clicked her tongue concernedly, which made you feel even worse.

“I’ll make Guen do the charting and stuff for you. Take it easy… go make yourself some tea. I’ll get the rest.” She took the bag from you before you could say anything. Left with nothing else to do, you bowed your head.

“Thanks, Yaeko-senpai.”

Guen walked past you as you turned. You followed his motions and the dread exploded in your toes and radiated like acid up to your throat. He was making a beeline towards Ushijima, who was still sitting at a table with the others. You scrambled after him and grabbed the back of his shirt, wrenching him to a halt.

“Don’t!” you hissed. Guen tried swatting you off.

“I’m telling you, he just needs to be told what’s right and what’s wrong. I’m not gonna chew him out or anything.”

“But he didn’t—”

“Where were you last night, Wakatoshi?” one of the boys asked, so loudly it interrupted yours and Guen’s whisper-argument entirely. The two of you froze.

“Asleep,” he replied earnestly, taking a sip of water.

“Really? You were supposed to be in our group. We looked all over for you.”

“The front desk gave me a card for room 11. That’s where I slept.”

“They told us you were in our room,” another boy insisted. “Hosihigumi, Nakamura, me, and you. We thought you fell asleep in the bath or something.”

“I guess there was a mix-up.”

“Were you in somebody else’s group?”

“Maybe.” Another sip of water.

“Like, who were you with, then?”

You bit down on your tongue. Don’t say it, don’t—

“[Surname].”

“[Surname]… who? Wait, the first-year manager? _Dude_!”

“What?” Ushijima replied, looking genuinely surprised as everybody begun to lean in towards him like hungry predators leering over prey. He looked to each one. “Is there a problem with that?”

“What’d you guys do? Were you alone?”

“Yes.”

“_Seriously_? You’re ballsy enough to hook up on a training camp?”

“We didn’t hook up.”

“But you shared the same room?”

“Yes. We didn’t have a choice.”

“There were only two beds for us, so like. Did you guys share a bed?”

“We had to. There was only one.”

“Bro, then—”

“See?” Guen brought up all of the sudden, looking down at you. His tone was sympathetic, but cold. “This is what I was trying to stop. People talk, [Name].”

Things were starting to look worse than they’d initially been, and boy, had they seemed bad before.


	15. Chapter 15

At the practice matches in the evening, you think you’ve actually made yourself ill by the power of suggestion alone, because you feel absolutely sick to your stomach. Every time anybody glances your way, you wonder if they’re thinking about you, and if they’re thinking bad things. Have you dishonoured yourself and your family so soon in your high school career? The cold sweat clings to you, making nervousness condensate on your every nerve. 

This blows.

And, to make matters even worse, Ushijima had _vanished_. So had Coach Saitou. Apparently, Ushijima had been pulled off the courts for something, and you were sweating bullets. Was it to talk about last night? If so, why weren’t you out there to explain yourself? Didn’t you get a voice in this, too? The more you sat on the bench, the more you started hating yourself. Stupid you—why hadn’t you tried harder to get yourself out of last night’s situation? Guen was right. Why hadn’t you thought it was stranger than you did? 

Ushijima returned about a half-hour into the games and was assigned to a random team. The doors opened with a burst, drawing everybody’s attention. You swallowed thickly, bracing yourself. But Coach Saitou didn’t even bother giving you a spare look. He just went back to his place on the sidelines, muttering something to Coach Washijo—and practice resumed as normal.

Guen came up to you as people rotated out and asked after you. You pretended you were fine. The ‘not knowing’ was the worst part. You wanted to talk to Ushijima to clear the air a little, but if you said anything to him, wouldn’t that just make everything worse? 

He came onto the court, looking a little more rigid than he usually does. Your eyes caught on his posture. For some reason, he has the same face he does when you try to explain something to him that’s clearly going over his head. Everybody else around him squatted down into ready position at the sound of a whistle, but he stood stick straight. His back turned to you, so you couldn’t even gauge his expression.

You have to admit that you’re not the most experienced in watching volleyball, but even you know that Ushijima’s plays are something else. You’ve already witnessed how powerful he could be. But, today, it seems… wrong. Something is wrong.

The set went up, lofty and high, like usual. People cleared the way for Ushijima’s run up. His steps—you noticed them, off-beat and heavy. He usually took off with such great form it looked like he was floating in the air. But this time, you saw him rise heavily, as if gravity had gotten a little stronger on him. He grunted when he hit the ball. You flinched at the sound of contact, the noise ricocheting all around the gym like the sound of a cannon. When you re-opened your eyes, the ball has blown sky high, rattling against a rafter that had to be at least 20 metres in the air. Lazily, it fell back down, accelerating quickly. People scrambled to get out of its way. Ushijima said nothing about it, merely scowling and turning away.

“Wakatoshi! That wasn’t even in bounds! What’s the point of an attack if it’s not a point towards your team?!”

Washijo hollered from the sidelines. It wasn’t uncommon; he’s got something to gripe at for every player on the team. But Ushijima flat out _ignored_ him, refusing to even bow in acknowledgement.

“Jesus,” Guen muttered, and you returned the sentiment. Something sunk deep in your gut. It’s the first time you feel afraid of Ushijima.

\---

You felt bad for sitting around on the last day of practice, so you volunteered to help clear away the nets and balls. Yaeko and Guen left to the showers, as did all the other boys. After this, it was time to board the bus and drive home.

It was just you alone in the giant gym, which was kind of relieving. You focused on wheeling around the cart and tossing the balls in. Every step you took reverberated in the air. Nobody was watching you, for once. The mindlessness was fully welcomed.

You were very close to being done before a presence raised the hairs on your neck. It cleared its throat ominously. Turning, your breath hitched in your throat as you faced Ushijima. 

“Sorry, but could you give me some tosses?” He’s so deadpan you almost thought he was joking, but the frown on his usually neutral face makes you hesitate.

“Um.” Your eyes dart behind him to the last net that you haven’t taken down yet. “I don’t think I’m supposed to be letting people practice after—”

“Please.”

Taken aback, you nodded before your brain could catch up. He bowed his head stiffly and went to the net, each footstep squeaking eerily with an echo in the massive gymnasium. Dammit. You’ve gone and dug yourself another hole. With a sigh, you wheeled the cart you had been trying to put away to the net, following behind.

“Um. Ushijima-san, I don’t know how to set.”

“That’s fine,” he acknowledged without even looking at you, staring forwards at the net instead. “Just throw it up.”

“Okay. Here goes…”

You launched it up. Of course, it veered in a weird direction you hadn’t intended it to. But Ushijima made do, tracking it with sharp eyes—he threw his arms back, leaping up with two feet, and swung his left arm. _Boom_. You winced and opened your eyes to see him land, hair following after his feet touched the ground.

“Another one.” He turned and went back to the line, sparing you nothing but a cursory glance.

It went like that, over and over, you digging balls out of the full cart until you worried that you’d run out. Did he ever get tired? You couldn’t help but remember the first time you’d seen his spike that one fateful day; the way it blew your hair back, chilled you to your bones. Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Um, Ushijima-san?”

Obviously, something’s on his mind, but he’s a brick wall and you can’t read him. You gripped the ball in your hands, your fingers digging divots into the leather. He stopped, a short distance away from you. From here you finally noticed that he was heaving for breath, sweat trailing down the sides of his neck and beading on his forehead. You took a deep breath. No going back—if ever a time to quit being a coward, it might as well be now. 

“What’s this all about?”

In a moment of selfishness, you wondered if he’d also been feeling the way you had about the rumours snaking around the grapevine. But you doubted he’d be this concerned over something as trivial as that. He cocked his head, eyes narrowing as he panted for breath. Finally, he straightened, inhaling sharply through his nose as he rested his hands on his hips.

“My grandmother died.”

The ball between your fingers slipped, bouncing almost comically on the floor. Ushijima waited for it to stop before looking over at you, his eyes heavy set with an emotion you couldn’t identify.

“I haven’t told anybody about it yet. I haven’t cried, though my mother did. On the phone.” He began walking, his deep voice trailing behind him. You followed awkwardly. Heavily, Ushijima dropped to the floor, leaning his back against the wall. Delicately, you sat next to him, tucking your knees up to your chest.

“We weren’t really that close,” he continued, quietly. You looked over to him, but he was talking straight ahead, tilting his head back against the wall and closing his eyes. He looked so tired that your heart stung with sympathy. “All I can think about is what I’ll miss when attending the funeral. And I know that it’s selfish and unfair to my mother. …I wonder if…”

You’ve never heard him sound so unsure about something. Your fists clench on top of your knees.

“I think you’re a good person,” you blurted out. It’s so sudden that you’re surprised yourself, but it’s not difficult to continue once you’ve started. Your voice softened. You turned away from him, looking forwards, too. “It doesn’t really matter what I think, I guess. But… Ushijima-san, I think you’re a good person, so you should believe that too. I think you do care. Just in a different way than what others might expect of you. …if that’s what’s on your mind.”

A long, long silence. You picked at your nails. He breathed, and you found yourself counting each one. For once, your mind didn’t run endlessly with useless thoughts. You just sat in the silence with him, quietly enjoying each other’s company. Finally, he cleared his throat, and you glanced up at him. He looked down at you, expression unchanged.

“Thank you, [Surname].”

You smiled.

“Do you still want me to give you tosses, Ushijima-san?”

He blinked thoughtfully, his eyes sliding to the ball you had dropped, and then to the many others littering the floor. He shook his head.

“No. I think I’m okay now.”

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: https://deltachye.tumblr.com/


End file.
